This is Interpol. How may I help you?

My parents are just hours away from arriving and I’m wondering if I should call Interpol on them.

My dad called as I was driving to the Turkey Trot cyclocross race this past Sunday. After he told me about what flight they were on and arrival time he then tells me that the last issue of ROAD he has received is the one that I look fat in my Standpoint column. Before I can draw in a breath to defend myself with, “I’m not fat! That’s just a bad photo of me!” my mother quickly got on the phone for damage control. “You look fine. You need to gain weight.” I can imagine my dad rolling his eyes in disapproval.Luckily, intensive sessions with my personal therapist to the cycling stars, Noel, has helped me work past my resentment and the desire to alert the authorities to my parents presence. That said I do look forward to seeing my parents and if my dad has any unusual, odd, or amusing stories of racing in the good old days I will post them.

My dad’s always trying to pawn off his old clothes to me, and while my dad is a trim man, 16 1/2″ collared shirts and large sweaters hang off of my cyclist frame in a bad way. So when I reject his offer of free clothes on account of them not fitting me, he always says, “Son, if you would just gain some weight, these clothes would fit you wonderfully!”

I told him to pack the clothes into a bag for my use when I quit riding, move to the suburbs, and take up golf. My guess is that those clothes will be sitting in that bag for some time to come.